


Reunion

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by <a href="http://hoflords.tumblr.com/post/29001715529/the-ghosts-that-we-knew-stannis-davos">"Ghosts That We Knew"</a> by hoflords on tumblr, and by some parts of dornfelder's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/509912/chapters/898150">"Salt Boy,"</a> and "They said you were dead."</p>
    </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ["Ghosts That We Knew"](http://hoflords.tumblr.com/post/29001715529/the-ghosts-that-we-knew-stannis-davos) by hoflords on tumblr, and by some parts of dornfelder's ["Salt Boy,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/509912/chapters/898150) and "They said you were dead."

"They said you were dead." 

“They say many things.”

Suspicion gave way to blank disbelief, followed quickly by a pale sort of shock. They said the red priest could wake the dead. They said the red priestess could as well.

Clouded blue eyes looked into the brown ones, looking for answers, explanations or some kind of trick. Hope had no hope yet, but confusion at least let in possibility.

"They said he mounted your head on the castle walls ..." He could not go on, into the details about the tar, the onion, the hands ... it was too violently seared into his memory still, the splinters still buried in his palms from when he had gripped the table to keep from collapsing when they told him the horrible tidings. The curses he had thrown at the raven, all ravens, all birds, for daring to croak and sing when one had brought him such news still rang in his ears. The black despair that had settled into his throat and chest still burned when he swallowed and choked him when he breathed.

"They said much," agreed the other. "It was intended that way."

The voice was like his voice had been. The face was like his face. Both were quiet and still and, even when troubled, somehow yet peaceful. Both were nothing the king had ever expected to encounter again, not in this world and likely -- he thought of his many crimes -- not in any other.

He had first demanded to see the maimed hand, the fingers whose missing joints sometimes crept over his face in his dreams since the news had come. When the hooded stranger had given his name, shown the hand, and asked to see his king alone, Stannis had suspected some witchcraft, trick or treachery. What he had not expected was the way his lungs seemed to fill with fire and water at the sight of the hand -- the hand he had held firm, down on a cold stone table, just before he swung the cleaver.

"Ser Davos of House Seaworth, Lord of the Rainwood, Hand of the King, sometimes styled the Onion Knight," Stannis said, struggling for clear tones, "if it is truly you I look on, you must prove it somehow. Tell me of your family."

"I had seven sons," said the man who called himself Davos. "Dale, Allard, Matthos, Maric, Devan, Stannis, and Steffon. My eldest were killed in the Battle of the Blackwater." His voice was even, as it had ever been. "Devan served at the side of Your Grace, though I do not know whether he does still." 

"That will keep," Stannis said, "but the boy is safe." 

At this the man looked almost weakened by the wave of relief that swept over his face. He swallowed, and went on. "Stannis and Steffon are but children and are with my wife, Marya, in the house you provided us when you gave me my knighthood. I hope they, too, will serve Your Grace in time."

 _I hope they do not have to_ , Stannis thought. It was nothing but heartache and trouble. At least these two of seven should grow up without fearing for their lives before they became men.

"And tell me of your loyalty," he went on. It must be tested, and he must not weaken, though his eyes, ears and heart were all begging him to accept that this miracle was true, that Davos had returned to him.

The man dropped to a knee, head bowed, eyes downcast but his carriage still strong and sure. "I serve Your Grace, Stannis of House Baratheon, rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and King of Westeros. I serve Your Grace until the end of my days, and my sons do the same, until the end of theirs. You raised me from the dust of Flea Bottom to the very Hand of the most honorable man who ever lived. I am your liege man forever. And though I must leave you again, yet I could not let myself go before I had laid eyes on you again and told you that you had not been the cause of my death.”

“You must leave me again?” Stannis’ eyes darkened. He had just got Davos back -- he knew it to be true -- back from the dead, and now he said he must leave again. This could not be. “It will not be.”

“I come before you against the command of Lord Manderly, who bade me go to Skagos to look for the youngest Stark boy. If I bring him Rickon Stark, he says, he will bend the knee to you.”

Skagos -- it was unthinkable. Anywhere but here was unthinkable. “We will send someone else to fetch home the boy.”

“It must be me, Your Grace. Manderly does not know I am here, and if he were to find out I had been with you, all would be lost. I have come at great risk.”

“And I did not admit you at once, Lord Davos. Yet you understand ...” The tar and the onion had haunted all his dreams; he had not once doubted the truth of it. 

“I understand.” Davos’ response was gentle as the rain in the long summer. He rose then, and the full truth of his return -- the reality that he was alive, had returned to him only to leave again -- hit Stannis with a sudden force.

“And I must make all haste to Skagos, Your Grace,” Davos went on. “It would not do for Manderly to know I had delayed. But--”

“One hour, Davos,” Stannis said, quiet, trying to keep out the note of entreaty that wanted to creep into his voice. “You must eat and drink. Take a meal with me, and then you may be off.” He knew the truth of what Davos said, but could not let him go so quickly. Not after so many hours of hot fury and cold agony had tormented him. Not so quickly. “Lord Davos, I command it.”

That seemed to settle the matter; Davos, though his expression was worried, nodded his assent. With staggering tenderness he laid a hand on Stannis’ arm, and Stannis felt himself grow warm and, at last, comforted. It was only for an hour, but he could drink in the sight of Davos, perhaps lay his hand atop Davos’ warm one, and tell him of some of the terrors that had tortured him during their time apart in the hope of warding off more that were clawing, already, at the door. Davos smiled only fleetingly at his king, but it was as though a shadow of summer’s peace had returned to pierce the cold veil that had enveloped and frozen Stannis all these months. “I will stay.”


End file.
